tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58229628577534012362018-03-06T00:09:03.462-08:00english 213 chloe bjorklundchloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-39953922310553374182009-04-28T22:38:00.000-07:002009-04-28T22:42:11.397-07:00GROUP 5!I must say that my adventure through my group presentation for this class has been amazing. I have gotten to know a wonderful group of individuals who are hillarious and totally creative. Maggie i have know for a while now, Zack i knew a little bit, Shelby is one of my residents so i knew her in a professinal setting, Jackey i was gald to meet and work with and Jake has rounded out our group so well it is amazing. We all have laughed, screamed, howled with joy and made complete fools of ourselves in the last few days perfecting our presentation! I love it. Each one of us bring something new and totally different to our group. Plus we all have great senses of humor which has made working with these five individuals, for me, a great experience. I usually do not like group projects, i can admit it, i am kind of a control freak when it comes to assignments but this group has made it super easy. We all had a vision and our work together went without a hitch. You are all in for a huge suprise and treat tomorrow in class with GROUP 5!!!! Thanks you guys for making this so much fun and so funny!chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-21856938509378877052009-04-28T21:59:00.000-07:002009-04-28T22:16:52.608-07:00Perhaps our wings have turned into something else, something my generation can relate to better than the idea of people having the ability to fly. I believe that our wings of love and laughter have turned into the capes and costumes of our heroes and heroins. Wonder Woman who stands for justice, peace and hope; Superman who is the universal symbol of a hero and Batman the protector of Gothem City and the innocent lives that inhabit it. I think that perhaps our ideals about wings and their powers have been transferred into that of the cape and the flying superhero. But what does that mean for the rest of us that still have no super powers and our magic wands don't seem to actually cast our spells, even when we concentrate. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I believe that this is a wake up call. We need to as a people, as a society, as a class come together and find what makes us happiest. That is our little bit of magic. If we can hold onto what makes us happiest we will be connecting with our former selves, back to the time when we had wings and one true sole mate we were destined to meet young. Those ideals of reality no longer exist for us, so i believe that it is the small things that we must hold onto. Those little moments when we are reminded of our true selves, when our shoulders itch, and experience them for as long as we can. As long as the world will let us. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>They can be hard to recognise but i know for myself as i think of what makes me happiest i think of this afternoon; watching the snow come down as i laughed for over an hour with my boyfriend about nothing. We simply told each other stories, tickled and pocked our sides and laughed at all the silly and stupid faces we could make. We even found having a staring contest completely hilarious. For me, i hope to continue to laugh with him each day and every day until i am too old to laugh with my whole body, nostrils flaring.<br /></div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-55869182252077011412009-04-28T21:46:00.000-07:002009-04-28T21:58:57.860-07:00Never Never Land<div>Well, I've been thinking allot today with the addition of this nice snow shower. What happens to lost children? Those little ones that fall out of their prams when busy nurses aren't looking, who wander away down the isle at Walmart, who sleep and dream but don't wake up with the sun? We always say there is a better place that our little lost ones go to, or else they go to purgatory along with all the other unbaptised non-catholics. But what if they are simply in never land. </div><div><br /></div><div>i mean it people, i am serious. What if all those miscarried babies and lost siblings are simply flying through the clouds playing pirates and Indians all day long and sleeping by the water side next to the mermaids. That is where i would want to go. Not to purgatory or heaven but to Never Never Land. Where i could fly with Tinkerbell and her fairy dust while tying flowers and feathers to my hair. Never again, always sunny and happy; full of adventure, danger and singing. That sounds like every stressed out grown-ups dream vacation. Lay by the water getting sun while chatting about the island gossip with the mermaids. Or leaving brief cases and trader info behind for a bow and arrow to shoot at Captain Hook and his dirty, tattooed pirates who sing from their ship. </div><div><br /></div><div>But taking a second look i once again see that my seemingly unique ideal is simply a repeat o Steiner's struggles. This one being the struggle between aged and youth, captain hook and peter pan. Unfortunately for me all that is past still possesses all that is my present. I wonder when i will have a thought uniquely mine and wholly original? </div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-34176515694937286212009-04-27T19:28:00.002-07:002009-04-27T19:33:41.787-07:00sunday morning by wallace stevens<div style="text-align: left;">when i spell checked that poem from the original form i copied there were eight spelling errors. of course i wanted to fix them but did not. i have read and reread this poem in the hopes of having its full understanding and meaning, but alas i am afraid that perhaps our dear Professor is right, it will take us another twenty years to have its full meaning. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">however, i am still trying to read it once a day because i like it. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; "><pre style="text-align: left;font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 730px; overflow-x: auto; overflow-y: auto; "><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; font-size: 12px; "><pre style="font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 730px; overflow-x: auto; overflow-y: auto; ">1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. The pungent oranges and bright, green wings Seem things in some procession of the dead, Winding across wide water, without sound. The day is like wide water, without sound. Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet Over the seas, to silent Palestine, Dominion of the blood and sepulchre. 2 Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams? Shall she not find in comforts of the sun, In pungent fruit and bright green wings, or else In any balm or beauty of the earth, Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven? Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The bough of summer and the winter branch. These are the measure destined for her soul. 3 Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth. No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind. He moved among us, as a muttering king, Magnificent, would move among his hinds, Until our blood, commingling, virginal, With heaven, brought such requital to desire The very hinds discerned it, in a star. Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be The blood of paradise? And shall the earth Seem all of paradise that we shall know? The sky will be much friendlier then than now, A part of labor and a part of pain, And next in glory to enduring love, Not this dividing and indifferent blue. 4 She says, "I am content when wakened birds, Before they fly, test the reality Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings; But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields Return no more, where, then, is paradise?" There is not any haunt of prophecy, Nor any old chimera of the grave, Neither the golden underground, nor isle Melodious, where spirits gat them home, Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured As April's green endures; or will endure Like her remembrance of awakened birds, Or her desire for June and evening, tipped By the consummation of the swallow's wings. 5 She says, "But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss." Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams And our desires. Although she strews the leaves Of sure obliteration on our paths, The path sick sorrow took, the many paths Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love Whispered a little out of tenderness, She makes the willow shiver in the sun For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet. She causes boys to pile new plums and pears On disregarded plate. The maidens taste And stray impassioned in the littering leaves. 6 Is there no change of death in paradise? Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs Hang always heavy in that perfect sky, Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth, With rivers like our own that seek for seas They never find, the same receding shores That never touch with inarticulate pang? Why set pear upon those river-banks Or spice the shores with odors of the plum? Alas, that they should wear our colors there, The silken weavings of our afternoons, And pick the strings of our insipid lutes! Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly. 7 Supple and turbulent, a ring of men Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn Their boisterous devotion to the sun, Not as a god, but as a god might be, Naked among them, like a savage source. Their chant shall be a chant of paradise, Out of their blood, returning to the sky; And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice, The windy lake wherein their lord delights, The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills, That choir among themselves long afterward. They shall know well the heavenly fellowship Of men that perish and of summer morn. And whence they came and whither they shall go The dew upon their feel shall manifest. 8 She hears, upon that water without sound, A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay." We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide water, inescapable. Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail Whistle about us their spontaneous cries; Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness; And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings.</pre></span></span></span></div></pre></span></div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-37670850185862068172009-04-27T14:54:00.000-07:002009-04-27T14:57:12.944-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ly-Q7dC0zSY/SfYp6jxnJCI/AAAAAAAAACI/eHLR98q45Ic/s1600-h/sophie+2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 166px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Ly-Q7dC0zSY/SfYp6jxnJCI/AAAAAAAAACI/eHLR98q45Ic/s400/sophie+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329493295052039202" /></a>This is Sophie, my sister. She is the essence of beauty, smarts and awesomeness. She is ten and the best part of my life. I would not be who i am without her. Just wanted you all to see who i am always talking about. <div><br /></div><div>~Chloe</div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-45258297241470753102009-04-27T14:38:00.001-07:002009-04-27T14:52:15.550-07:00<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Watching Zack of the Saving Bells recall his childhood and the soothing melodies of his mother's lullaby, i began to think of my own childhood. Hearing the stories of my babyhood but not remembering my own memories, at first i thought of the lullabies i sing to my sister when she is sad. I sing to her about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Wink'n</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Blink'n</span> and Nod and their adventure in the wooden shoe. Where did i first learn that song? Who sang it to me when i was sad and tired? Unwilling to remember the truth that no one in my family had sung to me as a child i moved on. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>What about the songs that my children will hear from me? What song will i make for them as i hold them at night, rocking them as they drift into the land of dreams. i hope that my song to them will be as memorable as the song from Zack's mother for him so many years after. I hope that when they hear that song they can think of me in a warm flannel shirt holding them tight in my tan arms. Feeling my long hair rub against their skin and the soothing melodies of my voice. That is my hope for my future. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>How did Niobe hold her children? She had so many and loved them all. Loved them all until her pride consumed her leading to her demise and that of her family. If she had not turned to stone how could she have lived with out them? Each one taking a piece of her heart and holding onto it as they slipped into the welcoming loving arms of Persephone and Hades. How could she have continued knowing that it was her pride that doomed their futures? That is every mother's fear, to out live their children. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>That is why Hecuba and the Trojan women wept and begged for the death of Helen. To give them some comfort for their lost children. How is it that fathers and mothers, grandmothers and grandfathers can live without their children? It's not fair that the world we live in can bring such heartache. How are we to cope? <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The only thing i can think of that can sooth the souls of those that have lost what is most precious in life, is music. That is Hermes and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Mozart</span> and Bach. The soothing and heart wrenching melodies of those artists that have been guided by the gods to bring peace <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">through</span> their melodies.<br /></div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-12569881627397952612009-04-27T14:21:00.000-07:002009-04-27T14:37:31.258-07:00class presentationWatching the presentation today in class i began to think about Antigone and her struggle with Creon. The idea that it is one of Steiner's five conflicts, the conflict between both age and youth and person and state. How many times have i begun an argument or fight with someone older than myself and changed my mind or backed down from my point simply because of my feeling of respect? <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Well i will tell you the answer, often. I will admit that i am the argumentative sort when i get together with my whole family, we all just say that it runs in our blood. How come then any time i think back to those arguments that i always seem to loose. Not because i cannot support my ideas and beliefs with facts but because i am afraid to push my elders too far and have them think i am disrespectful. Where does this crazy idea of respect come from?<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Antigone fought for what she believed to be right. She stood up to someone who was not just older but more powerful and the father of her faience. At my age she was able to fight for what she believes in knowing that her punishment will be death! That idea is crazy. I would fight for my family and for their rights but would i really go against my future husband's father and society to know that my consequences would be my death. I would like to say that i would do what she did and be as strong as her but there is no way to know that for sure. I hope that when my time comes to be strong and be a leader for what i know to be right that i will have the courage and the gumption to do it.<br /></div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-38829428877343821322009-04-27T14:07:00.001-07:002009-04-27T14:21:51.393-07:00the child"Who is the child? Is he real, is he a man now? Where does he live with his family? Is he old Chloe?" <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>My ten year old sister, Sophia, asks me these questions as i read to her the story of Ovid's transformation. Sitting on the phone, laying in bed knowing that she is hundreds of miles away in her own bed in our old house with our old mother, listening to my voice; to the story she has never heard before but heard a milllion life times ago. How can i answer her? All these questions are my own, coming to life for me through the innocent mind of my baby sister. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I tell her that the child is me, that he lives in all grown ups but we don't know it. I tell her that she is more like the child today at ten years old then i have been in over a decade. She laughs at me and reminds me that we are not boys, we are girl. I smile and tell her thank you for reminding me for i had forgotten, in my best sarcastic but loving tone. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>She does not understand me and my pathetic attemps at being deep but i know in my heart that the story of the child is the story of her youth. Growing older, leaving the world of immagination and creativity behind for one that is dark and opressive i have begun to forget. Living within the bounds of society, trying to be an adult myself, i see what i have lost when i look at her. When for a brief moment i remember what it is like to see the world through her eyes. Eyes that see possiblity and dreams when she looks into the afternoon clouds compared with my eyes, that simply think of the coming rain and what it will do for my already flooded lawn. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>How can i ge that back? That is my qestion; how can i have her eyes and my mind as i continue to experiecne life she has not begun to even think of. <br /></div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-36575406640979069012009-04-26T15:56:00.000-07:002009-04-26T16:07:31.892-07:00I was reading a story the other day where the wife and husband turned out to be brother and sister because the boy's father had an affair with the girl's mother before they were born. Being happy as clams before they knew the truth then having their lives falling apart with the knowledge that they could be sick. That their children could be sick from their unlucky fate. That got me thinking about what i would do? What price would i pay for love? Would i give up the approval of society, family and friends to keep my true love with me? Would i be okay knowing that i could never have children that look like me, have my eyes, my nose and my black hair without risking their health. I don't know but i do know that i have never experienced anything as strange in my own life and through catharsis.chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-85891815747905587002009-04-26T15:32:00.000-07:002009-04-26T15:55:26.766-07:00family<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I went to a wedding shower this weekend with my boyfriend. We have only been together for a few days but we have been best friends for months. We drove an hour or so and reached his grandmother's house. Meeting his family that night and then the happy couple on Saturday was a fun and frightening experience. I have never liked a family as much since i was a kid, meeting my first boyfriend's family. His <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">farmore</span> is the cutest and nicest little old Swedish woman with the exception of my own Swedish great grandmother. His family welcomed me with smiles and open arms, i felt right at home. It was odd. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>A few days ago i broke up with my boyfriend of over a year and this weekend i met my new family. It was great. The world is crazy and it makes me wonder if all really is suffer and fleeting? How is it that Niobe, Hecuba, Iphigenia, and Actaeon suffered till their hearts broke but mine can break and heal while i fall in love with a new someone? Life is something i will never understand but i do believe that the fates and destiny and perhaps even chance are playing with my heart.<br /></div><div>"The world will always welcome lovers as time goes by" is a quote from one of my favorite movies, Sleepless in Seattle. I hope that this is true. </div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-3938028550420003152009-04-26T15:16:00.000-07:002009-04-26T15:32:13.062-07:00"the end is only ever the beginning"<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>My boyfriend and i broke up a few days ago. I decided it was time to stop waiting. I can wait no longer for the light in his eyes to return. For the laugh that makes me smile when my heart needs it most to come back. I am tired of waiting for the man i fell in love with so many years ago to come home at night and hold me like he once did when we were young. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>He is a new man, my old man. And it took me a long time to figure it out but once i did my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">decision</span> was easy. The hardest part was knowing that he does not care. I have not had the desire to see him but i have seen a few of our friends. I hate knowing that he does not miss me, does not want our life back. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Since my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">experience</span> and journey through this class started so many months ago, i believed that i had experienced my "rock bottom" to quote the cliche. But sitting on my green king sized comforter crossed legged crying <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">until</span> i was barely able to think, i told him i was leaving; that my desire to fight for our <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">relationship</span> is gone and having him look at me with nothing in his eyes. He did not speak at all, he sat <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">still</span> and held me while i cried telling me its okay. That he is okay. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">That's</span> how it ended, with me crying, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">feeling</span> like i couldn't breath with him walking out my front door. How much can the human heart handle? If each day we experience catharsis through television, news and literature, how much more do we subject ourselves to conciously or subconciously?<br /></div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-78151785494704537482009-04-26T14:59:00.000-07:002009-04-26T15:16:01.123-07:00snowsnow, how i longed for your soft blanket of white. how i needed to see the moon light shine off your sparkling flakes. <div>snow, how i enjoyed your coating of the slopes. how i road for hours on your soft hills that caught my jagged falls and fumbles. </div><div>snow, how you made me smile when i walked home at night. how you kept me feeling safe and warm so far away from my family at Christmas. </div><div>snow, how i hate your coming. How i needed there to be green grass to lay on today. How i needed to be comforted by the warmth of the sun. feeling the soft soothing touch of the wind on my shoulders laying on the beach absorbing the light. </div><div>laying in the fields of Roskie watching the cars pass and the boys playing basketball while i dream to the sounds of michale sexton. his soothin melodies fill my heart with the sounds of life, life beating bellow me. life beating above. the sunshine flowing down upon my burnt skin helping my cells to regenerate and die faster. making me look older each moment i enjoy the sunhine. </div><div>snow, i need you to leave, to let me once again fell the sun upon my petals. i need you to let me grow older with the help of your brother Apollo the God of the sun. to long i have lived in the shadows and the bone chilling bite of your temper. What i need most today is to feel the sun. </div>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-18858222242642909042009-04-21T23:43:00.001-07:002009-04-21T23:43:36.611-07:00my final paper<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">Chloe Bjorklund<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">Dr. Sexson<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">English 213 <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">4/22/09<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">Magic and my heart<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">When I think of my life, my aspirations and the hopes and dreams I have for my future one thing comes to mind…magic.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What is it about this mythological idea of the supernatural that captivates my heart and mind? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While reading about metamorphosis: gods and goddesses changing into humans, humans changing into beasts; this idea that the immortal life is somehow intertwined with magic; I thought of what else comes to mind when thinking of this all encompassing word magic?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For me there is no other first thought than the fanciful tale of <u>Harry Potter</u> by J.K. Rowling.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it is not only Harry Potter that comes to mind after a few extra seconds of pondering but also the new teenage craze of <u>Twilight</u> by Stephenie Meyer. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What is it about this idea of immortality and magic that possesses the stories of the past and of the present?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I believe it is a human desire within all of us to discover what is hidden and find a way to reconnect with the stories of the past gods and goddesses of Olympus which are riddled with magic and can only be believed and seen with childhood innocence. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">Throughout this class I have wondered what it is that makes each o us fall in love with a tale from the past.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Whether it is the moving scenes with Hecuba and the Trojan Women or watching Echo chase after Narcissus or just maybe it is the idea that Persephone is happy in the underworld with her ghostly husband Hades.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Whatever story a person identifies with there is always a connection to what has past and what is to come, because in all of the tales there are elements of magic; magic coming from all different sources but coming alive through the worlds on the page none the less.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Magic turns king Midas’s ears into asses ears, magic eases Niobe’s pain by turning her into stone and magic definitely helps Hades open the earth when stealing Persephone into the under world. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But the question I have is why this magic is important and why do people today still want to be a part of it? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not whether or not these events took place because I know in my heart 100% that they did and continue to occur today, in the age of technology and iron. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">Today there are no more stories of gods throwing thunder and goddesses turning women into spiders.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No, today the stories are a little different, focusing on the power of humans rather than on the power of the gods.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><u>Harry Potter </u>is a series of books that tell the tale of one boy, named Harry, and his journey into a magical world with his friends.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>When I watch the movies and read the stories it is not the riveting plot that has me coming back for more.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Nor is it the exciting relationships between boy and girl, no, it is the idea behind all of it that enthralls my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The idea that hidden somewhere close by is a land of make believe.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Where castles are something to live in, mermaids are in the back yard lake and magic wands help cast magic spells.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I want to believe that my imagination’s desires truly can become my reality if I try hard enough and look deep enough.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This is why the tale of <u>Harry Potter</u> has captured the hearts of millions of young children and old adults, because we all want to believe in the make believe. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><u><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">Twilight</span></u><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;"> is another phenomenon that has recently swept the nation.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>With records of ticket sales flying off of the charts and a dedicated fan base this vampire filled tale has stolen the hearts of young girls and adults alike.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Why is it that another book about vampires, with a story line that has already been told is now making another comeback into popular culture? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For some it is the handsome love interest Edward, for other it is the action pact killing of the James, the stories protagonist.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>However, for the majority of Americans quickly falling in love with the series by Stephenie Meyer it is the ideas behind the plot and characters that is creating such hysteria.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There is a wonderful idea of magic behind the eyes of Bella, waiting to become immortal.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her story starting as any other girl’s would, ordinary. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>However, as the books continues so does Bella’s struggle for immortality which is her way into what has been lost; a world of magical creatures both good and evil.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Once again there is the idea of magic transcending the world we all know and are familiar with and forcing us to remember the dreams of our childhood fancies that have somehow been forgetting with age. <span style="mso-tab-count:2"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:8"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Exciting and desirable because if we believe that it is true, that someone can metamorphosis into a powerful being then we are allowing our childhood imagination to grow once again. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The innocence with which children dream and see reality leaves as people grow into adulthood.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As the responsibilities of life, children and families creep into our thoughts; turning laugh lines into worry lines the eyes with which we use to see a sparkly castle with pink princess begin to blur until finally only the cold reality of daylight can be seen. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It is the longing for our past selves that make people continue to watch movies and read stories that are riddled with magic. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This ideal that, if we believe hard enough along with a pinch of fairy dust, anything is possible.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That any idea can become reality if we believe in the magic of our youth. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This is why people are drawn to fanciful stories however old and familiar because they remind us of a younger time, a time when reality had a hint of sparkle. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:200%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-74884373702044034482009-04-08T15:20:00.000-07:002009-04-08T15:22:12.689-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Palatino; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 4px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 4px; ">Once upon a time there was a king with three daughters, all were lovely, but the youngest named Psyche, excelled her sisters in beauty so much that she seemed like a goddess. The fame of her beauty spread far and wide and soon many people came to worship her. Meanwhile the real goddess of love, Venus (Aphrodite) became neglected as fewer people came to her temples to make offerings and pay her homage.<p>Venus grew jealous of Psyche and turned to her son Cupid (Eros) for help. She told Cupid to go and shoot Psyche with an arrow as to make her fall in love with the most vile and horrible creature on the earth. Cupid took up his bow and arrow, flew earthward, had one look at Psyche and was lost. No victim of his gold arrows was more deeply in love than he.</p><p></p><p>Psyche's sisters began to arouse suspicion and fear that her husband of the dark was not some handsome god, but really the serpent monster prophesied by the oracle of Apollo. “Be careful or one night he would devour you,” they warned her “arm yourself with a sharp knife, and check out his face with a lamp when he's asleep.”</p><p>Psyche's heart began to fill with terror instead of love. That very night she did as her sisters suggested and when her husband was asleep, she took a sharp dagger to bed and lit her oil lamp. When the light came on, she realized it was not a monster but the most beautiful man she had ever seen. In fact, her husband was none other than Cupid himself in all his glory. Shocked by her finding, she trembled and a drop of hot oil from the lamp fell on Cupid's shoulder and the pain awakened him. At the sight of this mistrust, Cupid fled without a word.</p><p></p></span>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-89351174516597289632009-04-08T15:19:00.000-07:002009-04-08T15:20:07.819-07:00cupid and psyche<img src="http://www.wisdomportal.com/Romance/Gerard-Amor&amp;Psyche.jpg" />chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-34411724472707729992009-03-31T20:48:00.002-07:002009-03-31T20:56:53.083-07:00class rocki have had the class rock for a day now. When i first held this rock months ago, when it was found outside and was handed around class, i noticed that it smells. Our class rock smells of dirt. Thick, gritty and ugly dirt. When i smell this rock and put it close to my nose i can smell the dirt but i can also taste the grit and the bugs that once crawled around in the dirt that also covered this strange rock. The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">rock</span> is translucent, almost, and has opalescent coloring deep inside. It <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">glimmers</span> and shimmers and has three distinct layers. The base being dark grey, translucent and with flecks of orange in the bottom. The second layer is while. Opaque white with bits of dust <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">and</span> dirt <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">embedded</span> in the rock slits. The top layer is clear and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">shiny</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">with</span> the colors of the rainbow like a prism. This rock is cool, it has so many <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">shards</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">pieces</span> that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">seem</span> like they do not fit together but are somehow perfectly in place. I hope that everyone else enjoys this rock and can see how wonderful it is too.chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-39599599486040889852009-03-31T20:48:00.001-07:002009-03-31T20:48:54.713-07:00essay on Ovid<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">I have not been so wholly taken by one piece of work as I have been for the past few days reading and re-reading <u>An Imaginary life</u> by David Malouf. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The child, who is the child?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Is he real, is he a dream that Ovid has created in his desperation of exile.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Each moment for Ovid is new and can teach him a lesson; capturing the child, becoming the child.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Has Ovid become the child and regressed to his youth in insanity?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Or is he alive and well, living in the wanders of the abyss with a little boy who has not yet reached his man hood, his peak of life.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The ending is so simple, along with the beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Each is beautiful and full of light and lovely language.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The child is all consuming for Ovid, he is friends with the child, tries to teach him about life and finally he is learning from the child.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The transformation for Ovid himself was in his journey with his child.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was in his growth and in his own mental and physical transformations that were similar to the <u>Tales From Ovid</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This book was a personal journey that is relatable to our own lives today in the relationships of the family and tribal members.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The story behind this book is fanciful and plays with the idea of imagination and connecting with nature, which is a theme that is present still today.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it was so much more and holds so many more lessons about life and learning that are like nothing I have read before. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:&quot;Palatino Linotype&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;">For me, this book has touched different heart strings which have already been plucked through the duration of this class.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While reading the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Trojan Women</i> by Euripides the queen of Troy has to put her grandson in his grave.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Make him at home in his father’s shield; his last resting place now that Troy has fallen to Achilles and the Greek Kings.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In <u>An Imaginary Life</u>, the old woman must also watch her grandson and care for him because he is on the verge of dying.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>However, he does not die and becomes well in the end it is her son that dies.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The old woman is forced to bury her son and watch him die before her; being possessed by an animal spirit. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Why is it that watching a child die before their time and before their parents is one of the hardest losses of human life?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Life, it means to live with one’s self and the generations before and after, or so my grandmother tells me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But when I asked her what would cause her the most pain in this world she told me that loosing her daughter would be the hardest test of her life.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To have to bury her body and watch her life end before hers is close to being over.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That would be the hardest for any mother to endure.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I wonder if the pain of a mother losing a child is the same for a father?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Is the suffering of men the same suffering of women?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-79425403975985913322009-03-23T12:30:00.000-07:002009-03-23T12:36:58.399-07:00class 3/23/09I may not be able to say when my last pet died because i have yet to loose any pets beyond my little sister's gold fish which she continuously fed cheese. But my great grandma Ruby died recently. She was 94 years old and was living up in an assisted living home in Gladstone, Mi. She is tall, five feet and nine inches with a curly grey wig and a great smile. Ruby was the nicest and softest woman i have ever known. I remember going to Michigan each summer since i was about 5 and playing cards in her garage while my uncles drank miller lights and ate venicin jerky. those are the best memories from my child hood. As i have gotten older she had a little more trouble walking, reaching for things in the cubbord and a couple years ago my Grandpa Don put her into the assisted living home. Now she would just play cards there durring the week with friends and does puzzles when she is alone. I never thought she would leave. I couldn't make it to her funeral and I am glad that i did not go but i wish that i could've seen her again before she died. I did not know her that well but I know that i want to and i miss her. I have not creid yet but i know that when i have to go to Michigan this fourth of july and see my family there without her it will be hard not to miss her and want her there. Life is not fun all the time and i wish that all was happy and all was lasting.chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-25645775157219617842009-03-10T21:24:00.000-07:002009-03-10T21:35:04.327-07:00class 3-10-09I just finished the Trojan Women by Euripides. The beginning, where Poseidon and Athena are discussing the fate of the Greeks after they have destroyed Troy and desecrated the temple of Athena was amazing. But when I saw the pain and passion behind Hecuba and Andromache my heart ached. To have to loose your husband, sons, daughters and grandsons. That is a person's worst night mare and the worst pain for a parent and wife. I am sad that movies today and the stories have made the fall of Troy seem so epic and wonderful for the Greeks. And i am sure it was a great triumph and victory after 10 years, but to not see your enemy as human is the greatest error of human kind. To think that simply because an enemy is set up against you makes them less than deserving of respect and dignity is a true crime. I do not envy any of the Trojan women or the Greek women who have all suffered and lost loved one. But i am proud that Agamemnon will be recieving punishment for killing his daughter. A mother's rage is nothing to be compared to or dealt with.chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-13060450370256990942009-03-08T20:51:00.000-07:002009-03-08T20:57:35.368-07:00class 3/6/09When Jenny Lynn did her presentation of the ending of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Finnegan's</span> Wake by James Joyce I was blown away. the words were like music, full of emotions, passion and longing. It was overwhelming to feel the ending of a life and the beginning of a new one in the cyclical style of the book. I was stunned at how beautifully it was delivered and with such heart. I do wish however that Jenny could have danced, but i know that she tore her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ACL</span> earlier this year. I bet the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">interpretive</span> dance that accompanies the speech would be amazing. The idea of remembering people that have passed is so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">prominent</span> and important to the oral tradition and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">culture</span>. before we had digital pictures, movies and books of tape people had to remember their favorite stories, they had to remember what their friends looked like in their youth to keep their memories alive. when someone dies it is important to remember them and i wish that our culture still believed in story telling, in more than the use for gossip. i wish we still recited epic adventures and poems, remembering every detail. I do love the idea of a Tally. to keep a friend close to your memory with a coin that you keep for 50 years! that is great. that would be a great story, to write the life of one of those coins and the hands that hey pass to over geneations and ages.chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-23277872467094103022009-03-08T20:39:00.000-07:002009-03-08T20:51:05.558-07:00class 3-8-09I think that after looking at my own movies, jokes that my friends tell and the t.v. i watch, my generation's style of comedy is more like oldcomedy than new comedy. Yes, there are cute, teen, movies that boys chasing girls they cannot have till the end but most of the t.v. shows like South Park, Comedy Central, Family Guy and several others are based on crude, vulgar humor. Movies especially are now old comedy styled. American Pie, Superbad, Knocked Up and others are defenitely vulgar, and full of sexual inuendoes. Personally, i like a little of both. I like that vular, cheap humor but i also like happy endings where the guys gets the nice girl and they live happily ever after. Forgetting Sara Marshall, Nick and Nora's infinate playlist and Driving Lessons are a couple examples. However, i do think that fantasy movies are making a huge come back for my generation. Happy Potter, Lord of the Rings, Narnia and Twilight are a few popular choices. I do wish that classics would make a bigger impact on my generation and the generations to come. Movies like Breakfast at Tiffanys, Tale of Two Cities, Pilgrim's Progress, Sabrina and so many others.chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-31594386433460605752009-03-05T17:39:00.002-08:002009-03-05T17:45:12.034-08:00class 3/5/09so, about having a bad day....well i just had mine today. it was not the worst day of my life but it sure was the worst for my self asteem. i am an RA on campus and we have to have at least 80% of our resididents fill out this on line survey of how we are doing as an RA each semester. i have a full floor of 55 residents and as of today i still need 22 people to fill it out. if i do not reach 80% by noon tomorrow i will be put on probation! awesome news. so i was thinking about that when my boyfriend came over. we were hanging out and having fun just watching t.v. and talk. well, then he started to check facebook and needless to say that led to a large arguement! great, we argued about my jelousy issues, my drama issues, and my inconsiderateness towards his needs with his friends. basically i was told that i am a terrible girlfriend even though yesterday was our anniversay. after a long "cool off period" i.e. i made him leave my room and did not call him for hours. when we finally did talk he again told me how horrible i am but how sorry he is for telling me that. then he said that it was all his accusations were lies and that he has changed his mind. i am great and he did not mean any of it. well, isn't that great. which is it? am i great or the devil reincarnate? i feel like Hermes after he has been accused of causing tons of trouble for Apollo and Zeus but at least he has an excuse..." i was born yesterday"chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-8305273720484583612009-02-26T09:52:00.000-08:002009-02-26T10:11:57.421-08:00class 2/25/09I am not sure if i agree with Anamnesis, it sounds a little unlikely. however, who am i to say that when i was a baby i did not know everything possible, i just forgot it as i got older. it is amazing to think that babies are able to understand all the knowledge of the world. Though one thing i do agree with is the idea of starting small with love. it amy not be practical to start by loving a tree, a rock, a cloud. Even though i do not think that starting with smaller objects to build your wayt to loveing a woman is practical. I do think it is important to appreciate what is smaller and to enjoy all the world around. it is a good thought to want to appreciate all things and not just the human body of a woman. my favorite part of class was the meaning of Sophia. My little sister is named Sophia. She is ten, i am not sure how wise she is right now but some day i am sure she will be. But i find it odd that Phil means love, every phil i have know has been a dunce. but once again all that is past possesses the present.chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-25295235465855041862009-02-26T09:43:00.000-08:002009-02-26T09:52:24.326-08:00classOver the weekend i attended a conference in Colorado Springs, Colorado. It was for delegates from each school in the region to pass legislation and constitutional changes. A tradition at all the conferences is to try to steel the Ten Inch Thing! it is a huge plastic orange doll. Each school steels it, or at lest tries to and who ever can take it home gets the pride of the biggest honor. on the 3rd day of the conference I stole the Thing and was able to hold onto it, litteraly, for 12 hours straight. including eating and using the restroom! I felt just like Hermes when he is causing mischief for all the gods. I wanted to say "but i was just born yesterday" to everyone that tried to steel it from me! It was wonderful to feel mischievious and sneeky. Thanks to Hermes and thanks to MSU for the great adventure. it is true that all that is past possesses all the future!chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5822962857753401236.post-76629799357213312022009-02-16T13:32:00.000-08:002009-02-16T13:36:29.718-08:00class 2/13/09When we talked about keeping a journal and loosing those memories once they are on paper, i began thinking of my own journal keeping. I was in Mongolia this summer and kept a journal of all the days we were there, about a month. And when i think back to it all i still have all my memories they are just made clearer as the specific dates and places that things happened durring the trip. I think it is crazy that men played women in plays before they hit puberty and had their voice change. But when i think about it, when i read and saw Rosencranze and Gilderstern are dead it was a young boy that played the beautiful women in one of the traveling plays. That is so weird? I wonder if guys or boys today would do that and be proud? I cannot think of any of my friends growing up that would want to play a girl in any way. I am nervous for the quiz this coming Friday. I am hoping that I read our texts well enough and remember all the details well enough to get a good grade. For anyone that has had one of his classes before, are the quizies and tests hard? is there a best way to study for them?chloe Bjorklundhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05595251800565890713noreply@blogger.com0